Never a Brighter Shore
by Mainecoon of Eriador
Summary: Legolas finally figures out what Death is all about, and spends 8 pages moaning about it. Special features: Aragorn angst-fluff and Eowyn-as-mother-figure! Yay. ;-)


Never a Brighter Shore  
  
Movieverse: Haldir's death and aftermath of Helm's Deep  
  
Summary: Two elves learn a valuable lesson. NO SLASH. But lots and lots of fluff, compliments of Eowyn-as-a-mother-figure. ;-)  
  
Inspired by Orlando Bloom's character notes on Legolas in the cast commentary on the extended FotR DVD. For those who have not seen it, Orlando explains that Legolas continually looks utterly confused whenever anyone dies because, being an elf, he has not seen death or its effects on people around him before. Old as he is, he has lived all his life with other elves, who do not die. And he would have lived in Mirkwood during a time of relative peace, and so not been able to see battle first-hand before. He would probably never have experienced the death of a loved friend or family member, nor would he have observed the effects of such an event on anyone close to him.  
  
Author's Note: The next person who calls Haldir "Mr Ooglypants" dies. *glares at Certain Persons* He is NOT "only marginally more attractive than Wormtongue." He is GORGEOUS. *jumps up and down*  
  
Another Author's Note: Gilraen is SO cool!!! Read Appendix A if you don't believe me. Gilraen rocks. Did you know she was seven years younger than Bilbo? Okay, to give you all some idea of the time I'm working with, Bilbo went to live with Elrond in SR 1402. Gilraen dies in SR 1407. This information is totally unnecessary to the story and has   
absolutely nothing to do with anything, but I had to actually go do research so I could write ONE SENTENCE somewhere around page 9, and I figure if I have to learn Interesting Yet Useless Facts about Aragorn's ancestry, so do you. Assuming you haven's stopped reading by now and just skipped down to the actual story. I promise there is fiction in here! Really!!! Okay, fine, go read!!! *mutters* Nobody appreciates good   
history anymore...  
  
***  
  
  
  
The rain swept at our heels across the plains of Rohan as we marched our armies onward. I had seen rain before—too many rains to tell of, to remember. How many ages have our kind walked this Middle Earth? How many years have passed me by? How long is it since anything seemed new?  
  
But this is new to me. Though made from old alliances, the look in the Men's eyes is new to me. I realize as I speak the words how true it is that I am indeed honored to fight beside these brave children. New to me, the future King of Gondor's happy greeting, the feeling of his arms around me. It startles me. I am taken aback by this show of brotherhood. Rarely are our kind filled with so much emotion. Our hearts have grown   
weary of this world. So much life makes even the purest of souls numb.  
  
But his touch fills me with wonder. That he can feel so much! I look at him, and I do see a King.  
  
And close behind him, Legolas Greenleaf. A very old friend indeed. I thought I had known him, but now I see that living among Men has rubbed some of their spark into his eyes. We may be blessed with the very light of the stars themselves, but Men have a fire that comes from the earth. We glory in our trees because they reach for the stars, but only Men can know what the trees feel. We can hear their songs as they grow and   
stretch their roots, but only Men can sing those songs without corrupting them. Only Men know what it is like to live as trees do, knowing that one day it will end.  
  
Legolas leaps from the stairs. His hands grip my shoulders. I return the gesture, smiling. "Haldir!" he cries to me, his voice rising in laughter. "Then we have a chance!" Our native tongue, our words, the language we were born with. So sweet do they sound on the lips of a Prince in this land of darkness. What light has come into him?  
  
"Did you think in such times that even your own people would leave the world without hope?" I reply, smiling.  
  
He merely shakes his head, half in wonder. "I had thought..." His voice trails off. "Ah, but that is in the past. Haldir, my friend, welcome. When this battle is done, you must sit with me and let me tell you what has happened. So many things!"  
  
And with that, practically in the middle of a sentence, his is off again into the crowds. I stare after him, amazed. Such fire! Are all Men so bright that even a small piece of their flame can give an Elf the glow of heaven? Perhaps we do have something to learn from them after all. Ennui is a sad way to live for a thousand years or more. Yet many of our   
kind do.  
  
I lead my army, I take my place. The battle begins. I fight. My sword flashes in the lightening, reflecting the orc torches and our own tiny candles. My army fights with the single-mindedness of countless years of training. Their only thoughts at this moment are drenched in the blood of the enemy. Defend. Keep the fortress standing. Defend always. Then bite your enemy in his throat when he thinks he has you cornered.  
  
I am alive! At last, at last, I think I know the fire. The fire in Aragorn's eyes, the spark in Legolas's. It is life, brilliant life! I feel it flare in me even as I feel the blade in my side pierce my armor and my flesh.  
  
There is a moment when I see my own blood. There is a moment when I feel the second blow. There is a moment when I fall to my knees and see the twisted faces of Elves who have fallen before me. Their faces are white and blue and red with blood and brown with mud. Mangled in death, their bodies like half-formed clay statues, their faces melting off their bones. I see them, and I see the fire.  
  
They shine! They shine brighter than all the stars in the sky! These torn remains, these gruesome, disemboweled, broken necks, broken limbs or lost, beheaded, eyes gouged out, jaws torn away, sunken noses, joints bent backwards.... These are beautiful. These are stardust. These are starlight.  
  
The rain makes rives that flow down the stones of the Keep, making a river in the mud. So much death, yet there was never a brighter shore than that upon which I lie down to sleep. The King's arms are around me again, but I do not see him for more than a fleeting instant. Bright, so bright! The rain sounds like the moving sea. I feel the mud in my hands, I taste the salt... is that the ocean? Or merely my own blood? The   
grains of dirt below my fingers feel like sand... gentle yellow-brown flowing with the tide.  
  
This is Valinor. This is the Undying Land. I feel it in the battlefield. I taste it in my own blood. The pain of my death goes unnoticed. Bright, so bright! The bodies lying all around me burst into flame. Rejoice! Rejoice! We do not die. Oh, how wonderful to taste this life as Men do! How exquisite is my demise, for I now know what fire they have in their souls!  
  
Never a brighter shore... The sands of Valinor are dull and lifeless compared to this mud, this gore, these glistening torches, this starlight. This is what we live for. This is life. Death is life. And I melt into light.  
  
So bright... so bright...  
  
***  
  
Aragorn tore himself from the dead Elf's body. He spared only one last moment to look upon the fair face before he turned to his foe. Oh, Haldir! How many friends must we lose in order to keep the world alive?  
  
The battle raged on. There was the retreat, the brief time when they thought all would be lost, and then the rescue. Dawn brought victory on its fiery heels, but when the orcs at last turned and fled, and the cheering of the comrades rose, Aragorn found a quietness was in him.  
  
Legolas and Gimli had taken their skills elsewhere in the battle. Now that it was over, they ran to him, as joyful as any of the warriors who had been fighting for a cause far more dear to them. It is easy to be joyful, Aragorn thought, when they have nothing to lose. I should rejoice with them...  
  
"Aragorn!" Legolas shouted. "Praise the stars, you live! It seems out luck has indeed stayed through the night!"  
  
Gimli circled Aragorn, looking him over closely. "Hrmph. No serious injuries I can see." The dwarf's eyes twinkled as he shook Aragorn gently by the arm. "Lucky indeed, for of all I saw you were the first to charge into the onslaught!"  
  
"We have all three lived to see this day, now let us celebrate it!" Legolas leaped onto the broad stone bannister beside the stairway that led up to the main entrance of the Keep. "Come, we must find Haldir, for he should be with us to honor the victory."  
  
"Legolas." Aragorn's low voice cut through the merriment of both Elf and Dwarf, making them stop in their tracks to look at him. The Ranger met Legolas's eyes with pained determination—determination to not lose strength. Yet for all the strength in him, his voice grew even quieter. "Haldir is dead."  
  
"Dead?" Aragorn hardly saw the Elf leave his perch upon the stone, so quickly did he appear before the future king. "You know this?" His face was a mixture of bafflement and disbelief. Aragorn had seen this expression before. Just as Aragorn, for all his self-control, could not hide his own pain, so Legolas, with the steel will shared by all Elves,   
could not mask his bewilderment in the face of such an unfamiliar force as Death.  
  
"I held him in my own arms when he breathed his last." Aragorn's gaze faltered. "He was struck down by two orc blades."  
  
Gimli saw the noble Elf's eyes flicker towards the ground. Searching. Trying to understand. Trying to decide how to react. "And... the ones who held those blades... are they..."  
  
"I do not know." The simplicity of Aragorn's reply was troubling to Legolas. He knit his brows.  
  
"Where is his body? I must see—"  
  
"He lies where he fell among the slain. In this mud you will be lucky to find him."  
  
"You did not bring him away from there?" Legolas demanded. Anger. Ah, here was an emotion he could comprehend.  
  
Gimli stepped forward. He touched the back of the Elf's hand. "Come on, Master Elf," he said gently.  
  
Legolas pulled his hand away, but gave no other sign that he was aware of Gimli's existence. His infuriated glare was upon Aragorn. "You let him lie among those monsters as if he were one of them?"  
  
Aragorn stared back, steady but refusing to answer anger with anger. "There was a wave of them right behind me. I had no time..."  
  
"So you left him to rot in the mud? You... you just left him??"  
  
"Legolas, I had no time..."  
  
Legolas interrupted again, heedless of the pain in his friend's eyes. "Have you no care for anyone but yourself? You left Gandalf to his doom as well, and your reasoning was just the same! Are orcs really no more than an excuse to run from your duty?" Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, but Legolas continued, now breaking into his own language. "You are! You should be king, yet you flee from that as well. You fled the   
other way when you saw the Ringbearer turn towards Mordor. And for what? To save two wayward hobbits who were always no more than a burden from the start! Why do you always run away from the right path? Aragorn! Come back here! Aragorn!!"  
  
Aragorn elbowed his way through the crowd, muscles tense, eyes set on some distant goal. Legolas let out a snarl of frustration. "Even now you run! But you will never be able to hide from yourself!" he shouted after the retreating Ranger, still in the language of his people. "COWARD!"  
  
The confrontation had drawn a sizable audience, and not only of Elves, who could understand Legolas's accusations. But Elves there were, and their hovering presence was making Gimli feel uneasy. "Come now, Master Elf. Let us go from here and attend to those who could use our services."  
  
Silently fuming, Legolas allowed himself to be led away at the hands of the Dwarf.  
  
And time moved on.  
  
***  
  
The blade made a pleasant ringing sound as he swiped the cloth from its tip. The sword's surface shone, but Aragorn had little else to do than polish it to a blinding radiance. Not that there were many other available occupations: he had holed himself up in the armory to seek a few moments of quiet before returning to the celebrations. Those dead who could be recovered were given remembrance; the wounded were attended to. It had been many hours since his fight with Legolas, and he had not seen the Elf since he turned his back and retreated into the crowd.  
  
He had heard the shouted accusation. Coward. It was true, he knew. He was running away, in a sense. Yes, his alternative notions were noble, brave, cunning, useful... but when weighed against all options, were they really the right choices? How much internal pain had he caused by ushering the company so quickly from Moria? Would it really have been so terrible to let them rest a moment more? And had he doomed all of Middle   
Earth by allowing two tiny hobbits on their own to carry the Ring of Power? And Legolas... what pain would he have been spared had he been allowed to see the body of his friend one last time?  
  
"Aragorn?" The gruff voice startled the Ranger from his internal struggle. He swung around, his face blank.  
  
"Gimli." At this point, such a greeting from the Ranger's mouth was as eloquent as any speech. At least it was vocal. Gimli knew this.  
  
"Have you seen Legolas?"  
  
"No." As quickly as he had given the Dwarf his attention, he withdrew it once more. He spun around in his seat, his back once more to the Dwarf, concentrating on the sound of the rag against the tip of the blade.  
  
Gimli frowned. Deep contemplation, in his opinion, was never a good thing; particularly not in Aragorn's case. They had been though enough together that Gimli was aware of the inevitable aftereffects of such a reverie. "Aragorn," he said to the dusty quiet of the room, "come out with me and find him."  
  
"I am not his keeper, nor are you." Thwang, thwang, thwang went the ringing blade. "He can look after himself without our supervision."  
  
Gimli crossed his arms, resolute in his purpose. "Aragorn, you are his friend, are you not?"  
  
The blade stopped ringing. Its polished tip slowly bowed until it rested against the grimy floor. "I am," Aragorn whispered.  
  
Gimli continued. "We have all suffered today, whether from wounds of the body or of the heart. Some are not so easily healed as others."  
  
The straight back of the Ranger bent. His head hung, defeated, between his shoulders.  
  
"The hands of a king," Gimli said more gently, "are the hands of a healer. You are not yet King, and no hands can heal a broken spirit, but maybe there is something in you that will comfort him..." Aragorn raised his head. "...And something in him that may comfort you."  
  
Aragorn closed his eyes. Gimli could see the muscles in his cheeks tense as he clenched his teeth. "All right," Aragorn said at last. "Let us go."  
  
***  
  
The sounds of music and of laughter from the celebrating warriors drifted out of the Keep, but more than just the feet of ghosts tread the mud outside in the dusk of fast-approaching night. Aragorn and Gimli found Legolas standing on the ruins of the outer wall. His long hair billowed in the wind. He held his arms as one does when one is cold,   
clutching the sleeves just below the shoulders. He did not turn to greet them, but his soft voice was carried to both Dwarf and Man before either had a chance to call to him.  
  
"I searched for him among the slain. But I could not find him."  
  
Aragorn and Gimli came to stand on either side of the Elf. For a long while they stood together, side-by-side, watching the stars flicker into existence. Then Legolas turned to face Aragorn with a suddenness that startled both the Elf's companions.  
  
"Aragorn, I do not understand." His eyes were rimmed with the silvery sheen of unshed tears, reflecting the torchlight from the Keep. Not a sliver of the anger from their parting remained. Aragorn drew in a quick breath, for he seemed to stare into the very face of sorrow. So young, so fresh, so new. Like a child who first learns of death.  
  
"I am sorry..." Legolas's voice was choked. He sat down heavily on the rock, holding his head in his hands. Aragorn and Gimli sat beside him. Aragorn rested a hand on the Elf's shoulder.  
  
"Legolas... friend... Haldir died for a great cause..."  
  
"But he was not meant to die!" Legolas looked up. "There was a time, Aragorn, when I thought you were dead. And the two little ones, and Gandalf. They rose from the shadows, but Haldir will not. He will never see the lands of our true home. He will never sail to find our people. He will never..." The Elf's voice dissolved in tears. He stared silently out over the ravine as the drops rolled down his cheeks. His hands were balled in tight fists.  
  
"Is there any deed in Middle-Earth," Gimli contemplated to himself, "that is truly meant to be here any more...?" Gingerly, he placed a hand on the Elf's shoulder. Both he and Aragorn were somewhat taken aback by Legolas's display of emotion. Many times had they seen him caught in the unavoidable tides of death. Many times had he witnessed its awesome power. But never until now had he understood.  
  
"Those without swords can still die on them." Eowyn's words struck a hard blow in Aragorn's memory. He whispered them aloud, then added, "Yet neither swords nor promised immortality are guarantee of life."  
  
"It should be, lad," Gimli replied. "I remember when it was. Once, not long ago, there was a time when no Elven blood needed to stain metal, nor Dwarf blood, nor the blood of innocents..."  
  
Legolas crossed his arms on his knees and buried his face in them.  
  
"Alas, that we should see these times," Aragorn said. "Alas, that we should be the ones who live through them, though all our companions may perish." With a hesitant, unsure hand, he moved his fingers over the fine Elvish hair. Legolas's braids had long since come undone in the heat of battle, and had unraveled themselves partially. The long strands of gold hung tangled and stained by blood, rain, dirt, and tears. "Alas," said Aragorn, "that the splendor of these starlit creatures should see their own kind die in pain and mindless hatred..."  
  
The Elf's strong shoulders trembled now with grief too strong to be given voice, too strong to be given to cries and sobbing. The feeling of his own warm tears bleeding into the fabric of his sleeves was strange, frightening. His kind had their promise of immortality in Valinor. He wept for a friend who would never see that heaven. But now he thought of the others. What promises, real or imagined, did Men and Dwarves and Hobbits look to for hope? What other dreams, hearts, beliefs could be so riven by the blade or arrow of an enemy? Would Gandalf's fellows have grieved for him, that he could not walk the forests to some distant heaven? Would Aragorn's people have sung for him, as Aragorn had for Boromir, hoping that their songs would lead the spirit home? Where was home?  
  
Legolas was beginning to realize the true impact of death. Haldir would never see the Undying Lands. Had Aragorn died, what promises or prophesies would he have left behind him? Had Aragorn died...  
  
Legolas sat up suddenly with a gasp. He looked at Aragorn, the piercing blue of his eyes lined with the silver of unstoppable tears. "You were dead," he said quietly. "We thought... on the cliff... you were DEAD. You were... like Haldir... oh, Elbereth..."  
  
Eowyn heard the sound of the Elf weeping as she climbed the stairs to the outer wall. Her curiosity overcame her hesitation to proceed. "Aragorn?"  
  
Aragorn stood to face her. She was surprised to see the relief on his face, still more surprised to note his unease with the situation. He made a half-bow to her. "My lady..."  
  
"Lord Aragorn, should you not be inside, celebrating with the others?" She came closer, and saw the lines carved by tears in the caked grime on his face.  
  
"We have lost many," he replied. "You will find no hearts with laughter left in them out here. Go back to your people, my lady."  
  
Eowyn stared at the Ranger who would not meet her eyes, then looked past him to the Elf and Dwarf who sat on the wall side-by side. It was the Elf's voce she had heard, and heard still. Gimli's hand still rested on his shoulder. Eowyn walked past Aragorn, giving him one last glance. She went and knelt before Legolas.  
  
"My Lord?" she spoke in a low, comforting voice. Gimli saw her, gave her a hopeful smile through his sorrow-filled eyes, and withdrew to where Aragorn still stood staring at the Keep.  
  
Legolas did not respond until she placed a hand upon his knee. "My lord, you are weary. Come inside and rest..."  
  
Legolas shook his head. "I cannot leave him alone out here..."  
  
"Leave who, my lord?"  
  
"Haldir." Legolas looked around, his urgency almost to the level of panic. "He is here somewhere. Dead. And he will never sail...." He looked at Eowyn, pleading with his voice. "I cannot leave him!"  
  
Eowyn cupped his cheeks in her hands, then wiped his tears away. "Shhh... you cannot save him now, my lord. Come inside..."  
  
"NO!" Legolas leaped to his feet. "I cannot leave..."  
  
Eowyn stood, placing her hands on Legolas's shoulders. "There is nothing to wait for in the dark, my lord. He is dead. There is nothing but a shell left here. His spirit has gone to a brighter shore than the one you will sail from. There was never a brighter shore than that which he will see this night. You must be strong, my lord. Do not keep his spirit from rest by calling him back to this lost world. Let him go. He has found his home."  
  
Slowly, Legolas gave in to her words. He bowed his head, knowing that he had to leave but not yet ready to let go. Eowyn twined her arms around his shoulders, pulling him forward. Legolas held her tightly, his face buried in her shoulder. She rocked him gently, rubbing his back and murmuring a lullaby all women of Rohan sang to their troubled children. As she sang, she let Legolas slide down to his knees, and there she sat with him, still singing.  
  
It was not long before Aragorn and Gimli joined them. Eowyn met the Ranger's eyes, seeing his unspoken need. She opened her arms to him and let him lean against her. Aragorn had his other arm around Gimli, who sat close in the circle. And neither Elf nor Dwarf nor Man could keep his eyes free of tears as they sat in close companionship and listened to the woman's lullaby. It had been a very long time since any of them knew the love of a mother; but for Aragorn the touch of Eowyn was most poignant, for it had been only twelve weary years since he had parted with his mother, brave Gilraen, in sorrow, and his pain had had the least time to dull.  
  
For a long while they sat together on the ruined wall, the three men weeping until all trace of the sun was gone and the stars glittered above them. Finally, their hearts calmed by the shieldmaiden's songs, the warriors stood with her and looked out over the fields of the dead.  
  
"Farewell, dear friend," Legolas said. "Until we meet again upon that brighter shore..."  
  
"Farewell," Aragorn said.  
  
"Sleep well, friend of my brothers' hearts," Gimli murmured. "And may you find our brighter shore more easily than we find ours."  
  
Eowyn was the first to turn and lead the way back inside. When she reached the door, she turned to look back at the three. There she saw them walking with the mountains and the stars to their backs, their arms around each other. She saw the gleam of a smile on Aragorn's face, and saw the starlight in Legolas's eyes when he looked up at her in silent thanks. She smiled to them, and her heart was glad, for though she would see many lands distant and strange, she saw never a brighter shore than the mud lit by the smiles of these three brothers.  
  
And at last Legolas understood. As they walked into the Keep, he turned back to peer one last time into the darkness. "Hurry home, my friend," he whispered to the spirit whose face he could almost see in the shadows of the hills.  
  
As the yellow torchlight and music of the Rohirrim and Elven soldiers swallowed Legolas and his companions, a quick wind blew through the trees on the mountains, and the shadows seemed to smile.  
  
  
...end... 


End file.
